


Walls

by dhyanshiva



Series: Fortress [2]
Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Homophobia, M/M, Major Character Injury, Pain, Period-Typical Homophobia, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23327428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhyanshiva/pseuds/dhyanshiva
Summary: Aman and Kartik have one chance to escape and begin a life of their own.Yet, as sworn enemies in the eyes of the world, they're treading dangerous territory and there's an impossible number of things that could go wrong. Hoping they'll succeed, the princes hatch an outrageous plan, where a lot is left to chance. It's all or nothing and they're prepared to go all the way, risk everything, if it means happiness and freedom can be gained.After all, all is fair in love and war - isn't it?
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Series: Fortress [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878028
Comments: 35
Kudos: 44





	1. Rush

**Author's Note:**

> I concocted this idea out of nowhere - here's hoping it makes sense! I love the 'rival royals' trope - as well as a bit of deception and cunning - so here's my first attempt at this kind of thing.  
> Do leave a comment and/ or kudos below if you enjoyed it!  
> Well, enjoy the ride!
> 
> Dhyan x

In the end, Aman had to down some medicine to fall sleep, inducing it naturally was impossible. They were going to war tomorrow, his body had to be well rested. He was glad to have the privilege of seeing Kartik once more, albeit in his dreams alone. In this realm, Aman could pretend that they were just Kartik and Aman, unburdened by their titles. Their responsibilities and the sacrifice they’d likely have to make incredibly soon. They both knew they would lose themselves in the process and didn’t quite understand how a kingdom would compensate for the loss of true love, of freedom and joy. That is, if their plan failed, which Aman kept in mind, not daring to let hope override his sensibility.

He awoke when the moon was still high in the sky – it was time to seize the day. He asked to get ready in solitude, needing the calm and some time to compose himself. The only sound that could be heard was the clinking of metal and his steady breathing. Aman didn’t look into the mirror till it was absolutely necessary. Lifting his head up and glancing at the mirror made him cringe. His hair was an absolute mess, it would make putting on his headgear an absolute nightmare. Taking a deep breath, put it on as best he could, the clasp under his chin letting out a resounding click as he fastened it. Shutting his eyes tight, Aman let a final tear seep out before placing his sword at his waist and walking out of his chambers.

Many miles away, Kartik was in a similar predicament. He too, had woken up disoriented, the contrast between dreams and reality too sharp to bear. No matter how much he tried, Kartik couldn’t soothe the ache in his chest, couldn’t quell the longing to have Aman in his arms. He didn’t want to fight him, shed blood, but this was their fate. Frankly, a forced betrothal would have been easier to witness. At least they’d know the other was alive and well (up for debate, the latter, but still). Here, they had to battle one another, wound, maim, hurt, damage. Looking up at the last moment, Kartik had to avert his gaze from his own reflection immediately. His eyes were rimmed red, with shadows to boot. He recalled finally falling asleep only a few hours ago, throat raw and cheeks flushed, tear tracks tangible. The result was even more evident in the mirror now. Sighing heavily, he gave himself a one over and left his chambers, heading towards the stables. Kartik knew they’d not leave this unscathed and steeled himself for the onslaught.

No amount of preparation would ever suffice for seeing the love of your life opposite you on the battlefield. They knew that now, all too well and hoped that their commanders would assume it was the dust that caused their eyes to well up. Kartik felt his breath catch at the sight of the sun rising behind Aman; the vision was simply ethereal. At the blowing of the conch, they switched gears, burying their emotions as far down as they’d go. Tightening their grip on the reins, they surged forward. Here’s hoping nothing too untoward would happen. Love and fate had collided – the outcome being a literal war. Aman and Kartik refused to become ‘star crossed lovers’, however – love would have to be enough, they had to make sure of it. Here, it was their strength, not a weakness. A weapon they wielded with pride.

It was in this manner that several hours passed. Kartik crossed Aman on several occasions, barely a glance exchanged. They’d discussed the possibility of war between their kingdoms, of course, but things had spiralled way too quickly and here they were, months earlier than expected and they had to scramble and re-evaluate their plan. Above all else, they knew that they didn’t want to prolong this ‘war’ over multiple days, they had to wrap it up by sunset, no matter what. Kartik let the battle wage around him – the objective was to close in on Aman so their plan could be executed. It was crucial that this be done without anyone suspecting a thing. In the eyes of the world, they were rivals and as the saying goes: ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’.

Glancing skyward, Kartik noticed that the sun was very close to setting. Sending a brief prayer, he took a deep breath and swung his sword in the agreed pattern, complex and confusing, a unique signal. It was wild, going in all directions, drawing enough attention to give him a wide berth, space for Aman to get to him easily. Within seconds, he could feel Aman’s body behind him, the edge of his sword pressing slightly against his neck. Not enough to draw blood, of course, but for mere suggestion. Their ruse had worked perfectly, just in time too. The conch sounded once more and the battle ceased immediately, Kartik’s men helpless in the face of war etiquette. No one could touch them – Kartik was in the enemy’s custody now. He let out a slight exhale and he could feel some of the tension leave his lover’s body too. They’d pulled it off, against the odds that were so heavily stacked against them.

Shankar had been in a coma for a prolonged period and Aman was ruling in his stead, till the inevitable occurred and his coronation took place. It was due to these circumstances that this plan worked so well. Aman had the freedom to have his orders executed without question or clarification from anyone. It was a liberty and a blessing. Thus, he didn’t allow Kartik to be put in the dungeons, citing that as Crown Prince, he deserved a semblance of respect and thankfully, no one disagreed. So here he was, with the love of his life, away from the storm, at least for a short while. Kartik was now imprisoned within the walls of Aman’s room but it was also where they were most free.

According to the laws of this kingdom, any prisoners of war, regardless of their standing, were executed the following day. In the eyes of the world, Kartik wouldn’t live to see another sunset. This was the trickiest part. Anything could go wrong from here. The intricate plan in Aman’s head could easily be foiled, if they weren’t swift enough. Someone sharp enough could probably see through them. He hadn’t divulged the idea to Kartik – the element of surprise, even his, was vital. It was this part, left entirely to chance that caused the most unease. There was no vouching for tomorrow, and he tried not to fret unnecessarily. Stage 1 was over, only two to go. They could do this. Now, though, Aman focused on Kartik and his wounds, which were more severe than his own. Smiling softly, hoping his fear wasn’t evident, he kissed the taller man and got to work.


	2. Bleeding Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With everything at stake, Aman takes a risky step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Major Character Death and Blood
> 
> I'm truly overwhelmed by the love on Chapter 1 - it still feels unreal. Over 560 hits? I genuinely thought I was seeing things. I guess you'll realise why this chapter took me so long to get around to writing. Please don't attack me for this, I too felt pain, all of it. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy the chapter! Do leave a kudos and/ or comment below to let me know what you thought of it!
> 
> Much love,  
> Dhyan x

It took about half an hour to patch Kartik up. The process served to distract him for a little while. Aman tried not to think of what would happen in a mere few hours. There were only two ways his plan could go – disastrously, deadly even, or perfectly. He hoped desperately for the latter. A gentle hand on his shoulder brought Aman out of his musings and he looked up, meeting Kartik’s concerned gaze.  
Kartik knew something was bothering Aman but chose not to push it, knowing he’d tell him when he wanted. He lay back on the bed, the new position relieving the tension that had built up in his lower back. He put on his best puppy face and held Aman’s gaze till the latter relented and curled up next to him, head resting on his chest. A few seconds later though, he shot up in alarm, palm stained. One of Kartik’s wounds had re opened . It wasn’t particularly deep but the blood flow seemed endless. The man himself seemed unaffected and it only made Aman feel worse. Trying not to let his hands shake too much, Aman tried to do a better job this time around. Thankfully, he succeeded but now, he was overwhelmed, completely spent. He grabbed Kartik’s hands, eliciting a sound of surprise from the resting man.

The fear in Aman’s eyes concerned Kartik. He wasn’t an idiot – this was a momentary shelter from the storm that waged around them, that was obvious. He trusted Aman with his life and knew this sentiment was reciprocated. What he didn’t understand was why Aman looked like he was about to have a breakdown. Surely, they’d be alright? Silently, he implored the other man to tell him what had him in such a state. He watched as Aman shut his eyes and took several deep breaths, to compose himself.

“Kartik, I need you to promise me that you’ll do as I say tomorrow, without question. I need you to trust me completely. It’s literally a matter of life and death and the situation is precarious to say the least. Whatever I tell you, just do it. Please, I – ”

The taller man grew even more alarmed as Aman began to sob in earnest. The latter knew what a big gamble this was. Regaining some semblance of calm, he wiped away his tears and met Kartik’s eyes one more. He knew it was difficult to understand, the nature of Shankar Tripathi’s rule and try as he might, Kartik would never be able to grasp how much was at stake here. Aman was acting in stead of his father, sure, but that was precisely the problem. This was still Shankar Tripathi’s kingdom and until Aman ascended to the throne, he had no sway on the senior court members. They were in firm support of the now comatose man and it was these men that Aman was most wary of. They would need to be completely blindsided at dawn and that was challenge. Kartik listened attentively at Aman’s plan for tomorrow. The latter left out a crucial detail, of course, but the rest was disclosed. Though the conversation weighed heavily on their minds thereafter, yet the pair tried not to dwell on it and instead, spent the remaining time reminiscing their tumultuous yet beautiful journey, the path that had brought them here.

The next day

Glancing at his faithful second - in - command, Keshav, he nodded imperceptibly, and the message was returned in kind. They were ready to do this. Steeling his nerves and putting on a mask that would rival his father’s natural indifference, Aman rose from his seat, key in hand. Taking that first step that led to the platform was nerve wracking and he hoped his pause went unnoticed. Deciding he couldn’t afford to focus on the crowd, he switched tactics. Aman kept his gaze fixed on Kartik’s. It was getting harder to ignore the noose that dangled in front of him, the closer he got to him. In the eyes of those congregated at his execution, Kartik seemed fearless and unperturbed in the face of his impending death. The crowd was divided: was this a last show of bravery or arrogance, that this man was displaying? Yet, with Aman, it was completely different. It was only when nervousness overwhelmed him that Kartik clenched his fists so tightly – they were like that now, knuckles impossibly pale.

Stepping up, he blocked out the rest of the world. His focus was entirely on his lover now. Mechanically, he unlocked each cuff, the click almost deafening him. Now, Kartik stood right in front of him, unbound, uncertainty clear in his expression. Aman sensed Keshav shift slightly, hand undoubtedly resting on the hilt of his dagger, ready to be drawn at the decide cue. Aman was glad for the robes he’d donned, they weren’t form fitting and hid many of his movements. Looking up, he met Kartik’s gaze before glancing briefly at his lips. Taking a deep breath, he whispered such that only he could hear.

“Kiss me. Now.”

Swiftly, Kartik held Aman’s face between both hands and kissed him for all he was worth, as if it was their final one. And to the world, it might as well have been. Aman registered the collective gasp of shock from the assembled crowd as he lost himself in the kiss for a while, hands hidden away from view, resting on Kartik’s bare hips. He couldn’t forget the task at hand though. Years of companionship and understanding between he and Keshav had developed a bond between them that likened telepathy. It was at that thought precisely that Kartik was wrenched away from him by the burly executioner – this was it. As per plan, a tight, impenetrable circle had been formed around Aman and Kartik. They were completely hidden from view of the senior court members. Aman felt wind rush past him as Keshav swung the dagger downwards, towards the exposed torso. This weapon was unique, its handle designed to look like that which was usually made for a full-length sword. That was the only distinction, though. The sharp edge of the blade sliced through Aman’s palm, drawing copious amounts of blood as he gripped it tight. He couldn’t allow the manoeuvre to cause a real injury, after all. Aman nearly let his façade of indignance and anger shatter at the shock and pain in Kartik’s expression. The man was confused as he dropped into a heap in front of him, but Aman couldn’t risk stepping closer until they were safe from prying, curious eyes. Nodding to his crew, his faithful assistants, Aman flung his other arm outwards. He sought to make his voice louder and barked the following order. Each word was clear, filled with disgust, leaving no room for ambiguity.

“Take this fool away from me and put him where he belongs. I can’t bear the sight of him any longer.”

The crowd broke into frenzied conversation, the words ‘dead’ and ‘audacity’ and ‘disgusting’ and ‘sin’ easily reaching Aman’s ears. Concealing his blood-soaked hand in the folds of his robe, he turned to face the crowd. Taking a deep breath and meeting his adversary’s eyes, cold and scrutinising from across the vast space, he carried out the final step in this stage, relived that the worst of it was over.

“In line with King Shankar’s beliefs, I have delivered the punishment this kingdom deems fit for the outrageous actions of King Kartik, an act you’ve all been witness to. It is not in my hand that he opted for a slow, torturous death over the quick painless one we’d offered him through a noose. I believe now that there is no room for doubt. Thank you, everyone, you may leave now.”

Aman watched, finding it harder than ever to maintain an expression of cold indifference as the crowd dispersed, shock having rendered them silent. He kept his eye on the turbaned men, who were unable to hide their approval for Aman’s brutality as they departed. The young man let himself relax slightly, though his pulse continued to hammer wildly. He needed to be where Kartik was, immediately. Giving the dawdling people a grim smile and a curt nod, he turned around swiftly, robes billowing behind him as he made his way to a concealed chamber. He almost broke into a run, feeling dizzier with each stride. Aman’s injury was secondary, the priority was to sort out this catastrophe first.


	3. Not About Angels (Part1) - Blasphemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made and secrets discovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part 1 of the final chapter which became too long to upload as a whole.

Aman twisted the handle of the door and pushed it open, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. As expected, this hallway was completely deserted. He slipped inside, closing the door behind him, relieved to finally let his guard down. He fell back against the door, his gaze meeting Kartik’s inquisitive one like a moth to a flame. The sight of him calmed the racing of his heart and he allowed himself to finally breathe. They didn’t need words to communicate their emotions regarding enormity of what had just happened. Aman took those last few steps, the short distance feeling like miles, and collapsed on the bed, legs shaking. On reflex, Kartik reached out and took his hand and Aman only remembered the wound when he pulled away seconds later, both of their hands smeared with blood. The horror was clear in his expression and Aman smiled weakly before pitching forward, unconscious. They were both safe, for now.

Kartik became frantic at the sight of Aman like this but within the next hour, he’d recovered as if nothing at happened. Within moments, the relief in Aman’s stance was replaced by apprehension – they had to prepare for the final stage. The only thing that kept going was the promise that they’d be together, victorious at the end of all this. With each passing moment, the stakes became higher and the window of time was fast closing. Once more, Aman ran through the plan with the people assembled in the tiny chamber. Each detail was run through with everyone multiple times and so, it was halfway through the afternoon when they were done. The tension they shared could be cut with a knife, it was that palpable. A heavy silence descended upon them all and with enthusiasm he was sure wasn’t reflected on his face, Kartik tried to motivate them all. He succeeded, somewhat and decided not to push them further - this was difficult enough and there was no point in pretending it wasn’t ‘ride or die’.

At The Other End Of The Palace

Something didn’t feel quite right. Shankar’s chief advisor and strategist, Chandrakaal, strode back and forth in the confines of his bedchamber. The chaos of the almost – execution ran circles in his mind. At the time, nothing had stood out to him but looking at it through his memory, suspicions arose. The truth was just out of reach and he struggled to finally grasp at it – he was close, though. The response to that _scum_ Kartik’s blasphemy had been fluid and co ordinated. Could it be…? But what of the man’s collapse? He had seen Keshav draw his sword. Yet, he was certain that Aman had moved in too. A glint came into his eyes as the pieces began to fall together, far fetched though it may have seemed before. He remembered the tension in his stance that the young king had tried so hard to disguise, the hiding of one hand. No matter how much Aman tried, Chandrakaal had known him since birth. He’d seen him grow, learnt from His Majesty, Shankar how to read the young man. No amount of bravado could hide his truest emotions. Aman's fear when meeting his gaze , the relaxing of his body when the other man had _kissed_ him. It had been minute, granted, but Chandrakaal _knew_ now. That final order sealed the deal. Usually, one would direct a criminal to the dungeons, but the strange phrasing made more sense in the light of this epiphany.

Privately, he’d always thought that His Majesty had gone too gentle with his son, coddling him such that he turned out like this, unfit to be king. Shankar had always brushed his concerns aside, convinced that Aman would turn out just fine, that this was just a phase and he’d become like all the other princes in due course. In some ways, Chandrakaal was glad he was in a coma. This would have killed him, to see how badly he’d missed the mark with his son. On top of all the unfavourable characteristics, there was this, something that made his skin crawl and bile rise in his throat. For Aman to wed a woman and produce an heir was the natural order of things. Not to engage in such _sinful_ acts and taint his bloodline, bring shame to his ancestors.

Barely able to control his fury, the imposing, hateful man called on his servant to check on the underground prisons, to check for Kartik. He knew what to expect and the heavy, hurried footfalls that preceded his servant’s return and breathless announcement served as a confirmation. Of course, _Kartik_ would be where he belonged. Calling for solitude and dismissing the guards and remaining servants. Chandrakaal heralded for the messenger with one bony finger, and saw a flash of fear in the boy’s eyes. He gripped his shoulder, nails no doubt digging at his skin through the robes. It wouldn’t do to respond like this, he had to lure the _couple_ in and destroy them, take them by surprise. However, he didn’t know that just outside his chamber, one servant had held back. As soon as he registered what was being said, the boy sped away, hoping to find the man he considered king. Time was of essence.


	4. Not About Angels (Part2) - Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The uniting of 2 souls, once and for all.
> 
> TW: Death and Gore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out to be quite the lengthy and eventful chapter but I couldn't bring myself to split it.
> 
> Sargun, Chandrakaal gets what he deserves - I hope it meets your expectations!
> 
> Playlist at the end of the chapter, in the second note :)

Back In The Chamber

A few hours later, everyone was fully equipped and ready to execute the plan. Aman left the room first, to instigate the necessary commotion in the wing furthest from the stables. Satisfied with the outcome, he waited for the agreed signal, a close imitation of a very panicked horse, to slip away and meet the others. Aman had, out of fondness and habit, ridden only one particular horse on the occasions he and Kartik met and so, she’d become accustomed to both their scents. She stood here now, alongside Aman’s mount. The contrast between them was striking, Aman’s a brilliant white, akin to the moon that was witness to this very escape. Kartik’s merged with the shadows, the sleek black mane a beauty to behold. They stood before their horses, the moonlight enough to discern one another’s faces. Kartik turned away from Aman and was about to mount the horse when he paused. Running a tender hand over the majestic being, he turned around and with three quick strides, was in front of Aman once more. Knowing that they were running on borrowed time, Kartik acted without delay.

He took Aman’s face in his hands and kissed him long and slow, savouring their proximity and the rush of euphoria and affection. A few moments later, he broke off the contact and rested their foreheads together. The rest of their team stood a respectful distance away and Aman took this moment to accept the enormity of the situation, recognise how high the stakes were. He’d put on a brave front in front of the others but looking at Kartik now, he saw the same fear reflected in his stance and eyes. His grip shifted from holding Aman’s face to around his shoulders as he pulled him into a hug. Immediately, he returned the embrace, holding him just a little tighter and longer than usual as a sense of foreboding swept through him. Not through, it stayed, took root at the forefront of his mind no matter how hard he tried to push it away. A soft neigh from Aman’s horse broke the moment and they pulled away. Within moments, they were seated atop their horses, ready to leave.

Kishore ran as fast as he could, throwing decorum to the wind as he searched for Prince Aman. Perhaps the desperation on his face was evident as no one stopped him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw some movement and his halting was so abrupt that he nearly crashed into someone. Paying them no heed, Kishore changed course and ran towards the stables. Yet, he was still too far away when the group mounted their steeds and rode away. To the unaware, the cloaked figures wouldn’t have been seen, in the crevices of the courtyard, but Kishore was all too aware of them and nearly tugged out tufts of hair in his desperation and fear. What could he do now?

Kartik, riding ahead, making his way towards the outskirts with Aman behind him, the team a little further away. They covered ground at record speed and within moments, the distant sounds of frantic activity could be heard from the heart of the palace, echoing through the air, disturbing a previously silent night. The map that they’d spent hours poring over seemed to come to life as he navigated his way through the bylanes and streets of the kingdom. The route was complex, but he had no trouble getting by – after all, it was matter of life and death, there was no other option. That he rode a black horse made the task all the easier. Yet, within moments, the euphoria vanished and Kartik couldn’t believe what he was faced with.

Aman hoped their ruse was successful, that his, their racing behind Kartik would be interpreted as it should be – a pursuit to capture him once more. Yet, there was a hint of fear that tainted the sense of euphoria and hope. He tried to tell himself it was just paranoia, him being excessively cautious but Aman Tripathi wasn’t a fool. He knew first hand what a cutthroat court he ran, and his biggest adversary was the devious Chandrakaal. While he held his father in high regard, Aman never quite understood, even at a young age, why he allowed the spiteful man so close to him both in the political and literal sense. Almost all his memories were tainted by the dark shadow that the man cast, stood at his father’s side. The disapproval and incredulity morphed into thinly veiled disgust when Aman reached adolescence and try as he might, Aman couldn’t get those beady, calculating eyes out of his mind at this moment too – unnerving, to say the least.

He’d been following Kartik as if in a trance but now, in light of recognising the increasing levels of discomfort, Aman made a conscious effort to focus on the route. All this while, the pace at which they were riding had caused the wind to bite at his skin, eyes barely open due to the speed. Then out of nowhere, just as they were close to leaving one of the most nefarious parts of the kingdom, at the last junction, chaos ensued, and everything fell apart.

“What the –”

The shock in Kartik’s voice was clear, his exclamation cut short and Aman watched, paralysed momentarily by disbelief as a great mass seemed to descend on him. Pulling on the reins just in time, Aman’s horse came to an abrupt stop and he leapt off, sword in hand. Kartik had recovered the next instant and was engaged with a group of four assailants. Before he could call out though, Aman heard the swing of a blade through the air just behind him and whirled around, arm swinging out on reflex. He didn’t even have time to register the identity of people that now surrounded him for his mind had switched to that of a warrior whose only goal was to defend himself, stay alive. They were getting outnumbered far too quickly and soon, he and Kartik were back to back, a ring of masked men bearing down on them.

Kartik should’ve expected this, really. That they’d gotten to this stage of the plan was a miracle in itself. The relative ease with which everything had transpired so far should have been suspicious and Kartik cursed himself for forgetting to be cautious. Snapping out of his thoughts, he plunged his blade through an assailant’s midsection, yanking it out the next moment and watching him pitch forward. The response from his comrades was instantaneous and all at once, his blade was resisting the weight of 5 and it was with some difficulty that he managed to push them off. They were untiring, however and it only took another moment for he and Aman to realise they were most likely doomed. Stood back to back, they were severely outnumbered and there were no signs of the rest of their team. Turning around, switching sides, Kartik soon understood why. The entrance they’d just ridden through had been cordoned off and a sweeping glance over the rest of the space told him they’d been hunted and secluded from the rest – this was an assassination attempt and Kartik doubted they’d survive.

Desperation drove them both and for Aman, there was an additional rage that fuelled him. All his life, he’d been made to feel ostracised in some way or the other. With Kartik, he felt at home, like he belonged somewhere, with someone, at long last. He’d be damned if he didn’t fight for him, for them, with everything he had. Suddenly, the ring around them broke away and one man stepped forward. He’d covered his face almost completely and was at least a head taller than Kartik. All Aman could see were his eyes and looking into them triggered a distant memory, just out of grasp. He sensed Kartik struggle to his feet and did the same. Kartik came to stand beside him, sword in hand. They mirrored one another’s stances out of habit and in perfect synchrony. A light entered the other man’s eyes and Aman tried not to flinch at how manic it was. He felt Kartik tense beside him, grip tightening on his weapon just that little bit more.

To their bewilderment, he didn’t pull out his sword. Instead, he began to walk in circles around them, strides slow, as a hunter did to its hunted. And in that moment, when there was a group of people waiting with bated breath around them, scrutinising them with keen interest, he felt like a mouse up against a feral cat. He didn’t pay attention to what he was saying, too focused on his body language for that told him more than anything else. Kartik seemed to share his idea for the normally vocal man kept his lips sealed in the face of such scathing words, such scorn. Suddenly, there was a yell from somewhere behind the gathering and Aman watched, spellbound as more men, this time clothed in white – their team – broke through from above too and surrounded this group. The leader must have realised his attack was to be foiled because before Aman could react, he’d pulled Kartik up by the back of his head, twisted an arm behind his back and trapped it between them, a sword to his neck.

Instantly, Aman recalled that moment on the battlefield when he’d held the same man against him like this. Only, then he’d been euphoric, on a high and now, fear had a vice grip around his heart and there was no high, only the sensation of a freefall into hell. The dropping of bodies, blades plunging through flesh, enraged yells and everything else faded to nothing as he met Kartik’s eyes. Underneath the steadfast bravado and defiance, Aman could detect defeat and longing. The assailant increased the pressure and at the sight of a drop of blood, Aman lost whatever restraint had been keeping him silent and wary. He wouldn’t stand for this. He let out an anguished yell in spite of himself and cursed himself in the very next moment. It was exactly the reaction the attacker had hoped to provoke, his chin lifting slightly, the calculated, manic gleam in his eyes becoming sharper and brighter. He raised his free, sword wielding arm and Kartik met his gaze once more, unblinking and filled with adoration.

Aman watched, frozen as the man plunged his sword, grip firm over the handle into Kartik’s abdomen, not flinching in the least at the spurts of blood. The horrific sound of his organs being torn to ribbons with multiple stabs was too much to bear and Aman was paralysed. He longed to cover his ears, shut his eyes but couldn’t take his eyes of this macabre vision – his worst nightmares were nothing in comparison to this. The devil in human form raised his arm once more and Aman didn’t register why a look of shock came over his face. Both their eyes shifted to his midsection to see a bloodied blade exiting through the front. It was pulled out and blood gushed through the wound - the sword falling out of the assailant’s hand.

At this, Aman was brought back to life and he rushed forward, catching Kartik as he fell. The attacker pitched forward to reveal Keshav, a murderous glare on his face. Their eyes met and the rage in his younger brother’s eyes evaporated, giving rise to pain and apology. Shaking his head frantically, Aman shifted Kartik a little till he rested comfortably in his embrace. A voice in his head whispered that it was futile but Aman refused to believe it. He tried covering the wound with his hand, applying pressure to try and stem the flow of blood. Laboriously, Kartik reached up and removed his hand, shaking his head a little. He clasped the now bloodied hand in his own and met Aman’s eyes, tears blurring their vision.  
There was silence around them, and Aman saw this plot for what it was. Kartik was dying and Aman was very much alive. Whoever had planned this had done so with unparalleled malice. Yet, Aman didn’t care to know who it had been. Blinded by grief, he picked up his own weapon and was ready to end his own life when a voice, pained and low stopped him, with a firm grip on his hand, imploring him to drop the weapon.

“Please, for me, Aman, for us. You have to make sure they’re safe.”

Aman acquiesced, his heart in pieces. Leaning down slightly, he pressed a kiss to his lover, his soulmate’s forehead, uncaring of the fact that he was perspiring heavily. A hushed exchange of ‘I love yous’ and a sigh from Kartik. Just like that, and in a way, he was glad his death hadn’t been long and painful. Then, nothing. Aman could feel his heartbeat become weaker, saw his chest go still. At that, Aman broke completely, holding Kartik’s body close and letting his anguish overwhelm him. Suddenly, a hand on his shoulder brought Aman back to the real world. He looked up to meet Keshav’s eyes and though his face was tearstained and grip on his shoulder comforting and grounding, there was a fire in his eyes Aman had never seen before. He handed Aman a scroll and gestured to the mutilated body of the lead assassin. Aman took it and scanned its contents. The script was familiar and as he read what was written, he swore his vision became tinged with red.

Shifting slightly, he rested Kartik’s body on the ground and rose, somewhat unsteadily but with adrenaline coursing through his veins. With an adept flick of a blade, Keshav undid the scarf around the man’s face and everything fell into place. It struck Aman suddenly the reason those eyes were so familiar – save the colour, light and glass like, they were the same beady, piercing ones of his father, Chandrakaal. At the realisation that the bastard had ruined every aspect of his life, Aman lost it, kicking the corpse for all his worth and picking up a dagger, ran in through the body over and over.

Keshav watched his cousin break down, take on an otherworldly form as he unleashed his grief and rage on Nishant, the minister’s son. His gaze lifted to survey their surroundings and felt the ache in his chest grow, his hands curling up int fists. Save he and Aman, everyone else was dead. Their team had been martyred and the assailants had been killed, convinced they’d been following the orders of a great man. In reality, Chandrakaal was nothing but scum and Keshav felt his hatred achieve new heights at the revelation that this underhanded attack was his doing. Stepping forward, he pulled Aman away and held him tight, waiting for the rage to subside. It did, and within moments, Aman was sobbing once more and slowly, Keshav led him back to Kartik. He lowered them both till they were kneeling next to him and at that, Aman pulled away to reach out to Kartik.

It was a heart-breaking vision, a man holding his lover’s corpse as the sun rose behind them, banishing the literal shadows from around them. A new day had begun and this time, Aman was alone. Moments later, the mournful neighing of their horses broke the mournful silence and Aman looked up at long last. It was time to let go.  
Shankar Tripathi passed away only days later. Being the absolute head of state had its advantages and within a day of his (entirely unplanned) return, Aman ordered for the covert murder of the senior ‘officials’ and before anyone could register this, he instated his most trustworthy companions in their place. They’d trained for court alongside each other and had valiantly backed Aman every step of the way. He knew the kingdoms would be in the best hands possible.

Admirably, Aman hadn’t cracked at their return to the palace that fateful morning, nor did he strangle Chandrakaal at sight. He’d given the wrongdoer the illusion of having another sunrise to look forward to and so, it made his plan all the more gratifying. No, his death was slow and torturous. Aman ordered for a feast in ‘celebration’ of Kartik’s ‘capture’ and death and called for Chandrakaal, Keshav and a few others to join him. He’d ordered for the cook to lace the devil’s kheer with poison such that the effect be immediate but prolonged and it was only after everyone had retired to their bed chambers that he begin to feel deathly ill, as if his lungs were collapsing, and fire was coursing through his veins.

Frantically, he rang for a servant and Kishore stepped through immediately. The older, dying man didn’t register the small, malevolent on the boy’s face for he was too busy struggling to breathe. At a snap of the boy’s fingers, a team of nurses and doctors stepped through and Chandrakaal nearly wept in relief – he was going to live. Or so he was lead to believe. Instead, he watched as the team walked straight past the medical wing and towards the dungeons. Two soldiers held him down as he thrashed about desperately and it was at the sight of Prince, no, King Aman resting in a chair in one of the cells, toying with a dagger that broke him.

“Please, I beg your – ”

His pleas were pitiful, but the old man put his dignity aside in hopes of saving himself from death. Instead, he felt a sharp sting on his cheek as his head snapped to the right, cutting his grovelling short. In the meagre light through strips called windows, this young man suddenly looked a lot more terrifying and Chandrakaal began to quake in fear at the look in his eyes. It was one he recognised, one he took in pride in. The very next moment, his chin was tipped up by the edge of the blade, its tip digging into the sagging flesh.

Aman couldn’t stand the sight of him any longer. Clearly, he was a waste of oxygen and time, no point in delaying this. Tightening his grip on the handle, he lifted his arm and unblinking, plunged it through the criminal’s chest, giving it a few twists for his own satisfaction. He watched as the life drained out of him, those beady eyes slowly losing focus as blood began to trickle out of his mouth. Aman pulled the weapon out and wiped the blood off on the dying man’s night robes. No point in sullying his own hands and garments with the blood of a sinner. Looking up, he met Keshav’s eyes, the approval and satisfaction he could feel reflected in his brother’s eyes. Sparing the man one last glance, Aman walked out, directing soldiers to do what they wished with the corpse – an honourable funeral was out of the question.

Aman ruled for another 5 years if only to honour Kartik’s memory and to secure the safety of both kingdoms. Each day without him would have been unbearable if it weren’t for the assurance that he would join him very soon. He held the reins of Kartik’s kingdom for a year in name only. Devika, Kartik’s best friend and advisor guided him through unfamiliar waters and he secured an unbreakable alliance. That he and Kartik’s loved ones became fast friends out of the courtroom and off the battlefield only served to strengthen the foundation of this relationship.

On the 5th anniversary of Kartik’s death, Aman waited for the time frame of Kartik’s demise. That night, he penned a letter to the members of court, of instruction and gratitude. He signed it and returned the quill to its pot. He folded up the parchment and bound it, adding the royal seal. He pierced the skin of his thumb and waited for a few beads of blood to emerge. A few moments later, he pressed a bloodied thumb under the seal – it would be unquestionable proof when this was read a few hours later, in his wake.  
Aman changed into his finest robes, which so happened to be the ones he’d worn the morning of Kartik’s faux execution. Reaching for the pocket, he pulled out a vial of a substance that would liberate him, allow him to join Kartik amongst the angels. He filled his glass with water, drank that first and then tipped the entire vial into his mouth, emptying it of its contents. Shutting his eyes, Aman had no trouble in deriving satisfaction from the otherwise agonising burn. Moments later, the sensation took over his whole body and Aman let himself revel in the sensation, accepting the flood of immense pain. What was a few moments of this in the anticipation, the promise of infinite pleasure a mere threshold away? He lay back against the perfectly made bed, breathing slowing over the next few moments. Soon, Aman Tripathi was gone and as if taking a cue from his departure, the sun rose in due time, illuminating his chambers and the serene, still visage of a King who’d fulfilled his duties and could finally rest in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Walls - Louis Tomlinson
> 
> Rush - Lewis Capaldi and Jessie Reyez
> 
> Laal Ishq - Arijit Singh
> 
> Bleeding Love - Leona Lewis
> 
> Not About Angels - Birdy
> 
> Gajanana from 'Bajirao Mastani' - the picturisation was extremely powerful due to its contrast and urgenct. The chanting, much like Kalank's 'Main Tera' was the driving force for the battle scene of this chapter
> 
> Saathi Rey - Arko
> 
> Two Of Us - Louis Tomlinson

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Walls are Broken - A Tribute to Walls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24143749) by [HackedByAWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HackedByAWriter/pseuds/HackedByAWriter)




End file.
